


Roman's Victory

by theotherella



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Forehead Kisses, Gen, Hurt Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Hurt/Comfort, Medic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Pining Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Protective Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Robot Morality | Patton Sanders, Roman take care of yourself, Science Fiction, Virgil too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theotherella/pseuds/theotherella
Summary: As the only medic on their spaceship and the most reckless of the fighter pilots, Virgil and Roman are used to seeing each other.Perhaps there are problems which Virgil can't fix for Roman alone.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Roman's Victory

**Author's Note:**

> Mention of a burn, characters not taking care of themselves, medical environment

"Mars below, Roman, you can't keep doing this-" the medic snapped, hitting the touch screen of the hologram so hard that it glitched out for a moment. He kicked the box projecting it and then keyed in some details. The green-yellow light flickered up along the corroded metal panels of the floor and walls. "Okay, I'm getting you some proper painkillers and you can't operate heavy machinery for the week's course-"

Roman scoffed, then stopped to catch his breath for a moment, curling his fingers into the foam mattress. He was sure Virgil tied the bandages so tightly just to annoy him. "My elegant racer is as far from heavy machinery as a butterfly is from a rhinoceros-"

Eyes underlined with bags far darker than Roman supposed was healthy met his own flatly. "Just because you spin out a chunk of metal really thin doesn't stop it being a chunk of metal."

"And just because you put a willow tree into an aspirin doesn't make it not a tree, but you're not prescribing me chewing on bark!" Roman rejoindered.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's not- this is all synthetic, it's not the Middle Ages."

"It comes from willow trees," he insisted. “That’s what they did in like...3000 CE when they discovered it.” 

"It comes from my limited store and you're using it all up," he groused. He didn't bother with the little keypad by the medicine cupboard, instead just whacking the top of it with the heel of his hand so it fell open. 

He raised his eyebrows. "Maybe you shouldn't do that where a crewmate can see you."

"Look, if you start stealing bandages and painkillers rather than returning them unused I wouldn't stop you." As ever, it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic, but Roman was fairly confident he wasn’t this time. 

"Bandages are for nerds," Roman muttered to himself. He patted the spot over his shoulder which had been- well, lightly toasted by blaster fire and tightened his hands once more so he didn’t flinch. There. It was basically nothing. "Nerd losers who don't have dashing and fun scars-"

Virgil pointed the box of pills at him in what the pilot could only interpret as a threatening gesture. "At any point in time, I'm between keeping you here on bedrest so you stick to my rules and being off put by how much you like to annoy me." He looked at Roman’s shoulder with a frown. "You're walking that line."

He put on his most charming smile as he took the box and tucked it into his jumpsuit. "What, like my company wouldn't delight and fill your dreary days, borebones?"

Virgil pulled a face. "Yeah, nope, you can go get infected all you like."

"Somehow I feel like a doctor shouldn't have this lack of care for his dear patients."

"Maybe the patient should have more care for himself-" Virgil sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Guilt squirmed into the pilot’s chest, as well as exactly what his captain would say to a general medic trying to dissuade his most committed soldier. "Roman, seriously, I can refer you to talk to someone, at least-"

There was a ringing knock on the door, like two metal pipes clanging together.

He cut off and called, "Yeah?"

"It is P10!" an automated voice replied. "Requesting access?"

Virgil checked his patient, who was busy pretending to be engrossed in picking at the foam mattress, then nodded. "Sure, come in!" 

As a robot built to the dimensions of a tiny snowman rolled in, Roman tried to slide off the bed but Virgil held up a hand to keep him. And he was _so_ close to avoiding another doom-and-gloom medic lecture. "Hey, P10," he said- his voice was softer than usual, Roman noted- and then, with a jolt, he realised it wasn’t much softened from when he spoke to him. "This is just Roman."

"Hi!" the robot beeped, then came to bump into the end of Virgil's scrubs where the black faded into washed-out grey. 

He crouched down to P10's level. "Usual treatment today?" His brow was slightly furrowed in concentration. Diagnose-y face, Roman deduced. 

"Yes.” The robot bobbed his head into a nod. “Performance normal. Satisfaction...low." Somehow the pause in programmed words sounded dejected.

"Yeah, tell me about it,” he sighed as he wrapped his arms around P10's round sides in an awkward hug.

Roman laughed in disbelief and Virgil's eyes snapped up to glare at him. He held his hands up. "Sorry, sorry! It's just- funny."

"What is?" His eyes narrowed.

He shook his head with a grin. "You're all...soft.”

"What are you talking about? I'm always soft," he snarked at him.

Impatient, P10 bumped the dome of his head into Virgil's chin. "Kiss it better!"

As demanded, Virgil dropped a little kiss onto the robot's head. "There. That should help," he said gruffly, not looking at Roman as his cheeks went pink.

P10 made a little whirring noise, almost like a purr. "Satisfaction...medium.”

"A little bit better is still better," the medic said, standing up again with a stretch and a grunt. "I'll see what I can do when I get those books in, okay?"

"Thanks, Virgil!" He rolled back out again before stopping to wiggle his head goodbye. "See you tomorrow!"

He gave a little two-fingered salute in return. Academy habits died hard, Roman knew.

However he was looking at Virgil as he reappraised him made the medic scowl and turn away, before wheeling back and pointing at the holes he had dug in the foam mattress. "Dude, come on. I get one of these a week and it's Tuesday."

Roman shook his head. "It's Monday."

His eyes widened in alarm. "What day did you say it was?"

"Uh, Monday?” 

Virgil quickly crossed the room and drew out a small flashlight from a seemingly random box of tools. His brow furrowed as he held it up to the pilot’s face. Roman swatted it away from his eye. "Check the date before you check me!"

He rolled his eyes, but turned to hit the touchscreen on. He stared at the display for a long moment, the holograph’s light making his pale face look faintly green. Then his shoulders slumped. “Shit. Well, it is Monday." He kicked the box so it flickered off. "Ugh, disgusting."

A wide smile grew on Roman's face. "Shall I check you with the little light, Virgil? Are you sleeping enough, Virgil? Do you know who the King is, Virgil? How many fingers-" He held up three. 

"Shut up," Virgil grumbled. "It just slipped my mind."

"Are you sure you don't need a nap?" Roman teased. "Come on!" he said more seriously. "I always say you look like you need a nap!"

Virgil slapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh my S-"

He was cut off by a suddenly bright flashing alarm and a beeping sound. Instinctively, Virgil hit the intercom button. "It's medical,” his voice said in almost as even a tone as P10’s. 

"Yeah, uh, Wang fainted up on the bridge-" a voice crackled through. "Could you come up?"

He let his head slump backwards to look at a rust spot on the ceiling before he replied without a change in tone, "Give me five minutes."

"Okay, cool."

He hung up and turned back to Roman. "Painkillers four times a day for a week. No heavy machinery. Come and talk to me once you're done. No more dumb heroics."

Roman pouted. "That would all be so much easier if you'd just kiss it better for me."

Without any fanfare, Virgil crossed the room and cupped his patient’s face in his hands. Roman stared up at him for just a moment, eyes widened in surprise, before Virgil kissed his forehead as gently as if it could break apart at his touch. He pulled back, his deep brown eyes meeting Roman's. "To tide you over. I'm getting books for P10, but there are better people than me to help your head. I'll find some choices for the follow-up, okay?"

Without thinking, Roman nodded. He could feel the calluses on his fingers.

Virgil took his hands away, and turned to put gloves on. Roman touched his own lips for just a moment. He watched as the medic checked the contents of a First Aid kit before unfolding his bed from the wall and reaching into the shelf of his belongings behind it.

It took a moment to speak again. "Virgil?"

"Yeah?" He tucked a pack of his own sweets into his pocket with the same efficiency as he'd grabbed the rest of his supplies with. 

"Are you...doing alright?" 

Virgil laughed through his nose. "Nope, we're not doing that one. I'm going to go and do my job, and you're going to go and get better. I'll talk about it with someone who isn't my patient if I do have a problem."

"No dragons for me to slay at all, then?" he said, his disappointment barely palpable in his voice.

"Help me fight yours and we'll be even,” he replied just as lightly before he disappeared out of the door and, presumably, up to the bridge. No time for goodbyes. Maybe no need, after that. Maybe he was just sleep-deprived and forgot.

Roman wouldn't even think of calling a medic if he fainted, he thought smugly to himself. He could probably fix that all alone. Then he sighed and leaned his head back against the wall with a small clang as he thought of what Virgil would say. _You can't keep doing this._

He looked around the room for a moment as if the piles of boxes and confusing equipment would give him any clues as to what to do to help.

Then, he slung his legs back over the bed and began, instinctively, to head to the break room to see if there was anyone around to go over the skirmish with. He mussed his hair in the reflection of a sliding door, admiring the dashing line of an old scar down one cheek. 

Then he stopped and heaved a great and dramatic sigh.

He checked the packet of painkillers- causes drowsiness - and gave one final glance to where the story of his success would still be flashy and exciting, and turned his feet to the sleeping quarters.

It looked like Roman would celebrate another daring victory with a goddamn nap.


End file.
